The Rawhide Kid: Western Fires
by Syl
Summary: A stranger rides into trouble in Piedras Negras.


Summary: A lone, mysterious stranger rides into Piedras Negras and immediately runs afoul of the town bullies. 

Disclaimer: All the characters are owned by Marvel; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome! 

Copyright 2000 

**** The Rawhide Kid: Western Fires by Syl Francis 

The russet fires of the late August sunset briefly outlined the lone rider as he crested the distant mesa. By the time man and horse reached the bottom of the rocky trail, night had settled on the southwestern frontier town. 

The black horse snuffled quietly. The last watering hole had been a half-day back. 

"Easy, Nightwind," the rider said in low soothing tones. "Easy, boy." Nightwind jerked his head in an up and down movement as if he understood his rider. A sign posted on the outskirts of town proclaimed, "Welcome to Piedras Negras! Population 874." 

"We'll get us a nice soft spot in a livery tonight, boy...and an extra helping of oats for you." Riding through the town, the rider took note of the buildings he passed by: a mercantile, barbershop, several saloons, a boarding house, livery, and jail. The rider steered his horse to the livery, pulled up, and dismounted. 

He walked Nightwind to the watering trough and allowed his loyal companion to drink his fill. As Nightwind eagerly dipped his nuzzle into the water, he snorted in his excitement. 

Smiling, the rider removed his white hat, revealing a shock of red hair. Cupping his hands, he quickly splashed his face and neck, washing off some of the dust he'd incurred during the long day's ride. He was a young man, and to inexperienced eyes appeared little more than a boy: slightly built and baby- faced. 

On a second careful look, one noted the two low-slung, well-oiled holsters, as well as the twin, pearl-handled Colts. 

"Sure tastes mighty good, don't it boy?" he asked. He removed his dark bandana, soaked it thoroughly and wiped the last of the grime from his face. Rinsing it quickly, he wringed the tattered cloth dry, and tied it around his neck. 

"Come on, Nightwind, let's get you a nice, clean stall with fresh straw." With that, the young man began to lead his horse to the open livery. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement to his right. Instantly on the alert, he kept walking as if everything were normal. 

Then it started, like always. He sighed inwardly. 

"Well, lookee here, P.J.!" a loud drunken voice said. "We got us a shave tail in town!" This last was punctuated with raucous laughter. Under the shadow of his dusty hat, the stranger's eyes moved surreptitiously to the right, studying the troublemaker. He was a giant of a man, a real hardcase. 

"You're right, Charlie! You think he's too young to be out by hisself? Hey! Pretty boy! Does your mama know you're out this late?" 

The young man kept walking. He entered the livery and walked Nightwind to an empty stall. Ignoring the two galoots who'd followed him inside, he proceeded to unsaddle his horse. 

A man who'd been sweeping one of the stalls came running out. "Now, Charlie...P.J.! I don't want no trouble in my stable...!" 

"No trouble from us, Daryl! We're just here to make sure this here young'un is properly escorted home! Right, Charlie?" 

"Right, P.J.!" Charlie answered. "Hey, kid! We wanna talk to you!" Both men broke into helpless giggles. 

"Charlie, if you cause in trouble in my stable, I'll--Hey! What are you doing?!" 

P.J. had grabbed Daryl by the collar and pants. Easily overpowering the livery owner, P.J. threw him into a storage bin. Daryl's muffled protests could be heard through the closed lid. 

By this time, the young stranger had unsaddled his stallion and started brushing him down. Nightwind whinnied softly, expressing his pleasure at his master's ministrations. 

"Hey, kid!" Charlie called. His voice had turned ugly. "Runt! I'm talking to you." Charlie and P.J. moved in closer, blocking off any escape route. Daryl's angry pounding continued in the background. The normal stable sounds of leather creaking, hoofs stamping, and horses snorting were suddenly stilled. 

The very air seemed to hold its breath. The young man ignored the two bullies and crooned in low soothing tones to his powerful horse. 

"Charlie, I think the little boy is being mighty impolite, don't you?" P.J. asked. 

"Sure looks that way to me, pard," Charlie answered. By this time, he was standing next to the much smaller young man. "What do *you* say, runt? You being impolite to me'n my partner, here?" 

When the young stranger neither answered nor looked up, Charlie grabbed him by the forearm. "Look at me when I talk--!" 

That's all he got out. Quicker than greased lightning, the young man chopped down on Charlie's wrist with a paralyzing blow. He followed through with a right hook to the jaw and three left jabs in rapid succession to the solar plexus. 

He worked over his would be tormenter, striking with the speed of a desert rattler. His smaller stature made it almost impossible for the slower, lumbering bear-like moves of the giant bully to even connect. 

As they fought, P.J. urged his drunken friend on. "Come on, Charlie...you k'n take'im, Charlie! He's just a littl'un!" 

"No matter where we go, Nightwind," the small stranger said in a tired monologue, "there's always some loud-mouthed galoot who gets his fun from trying to pick on the weak and helpless!" 

By now, Charlie was weaving back and forth in a daze. Grabbing him by the collar, the stranger reached back with his right fist and landed a roundhouse with the power of a stallion's kick. The man mountain lost consciousness and toppled forward, coming to rest facedown. 

Nightwind snorted in approval. 

Breathing heavily, the young man slowly turned to face the second man. P.J. slowly started to back away. 

"No, please!" he said. A short, nervous laugh escaped his lips. "W-We d-didn't m-mean nothing...Honest! Me'n Charlie...we was jus' funnin'--!" 

The young stranger made a sudden move as if to attack. This was enough to make P.J. turn tail and run out the livery. 

"But it always ends the same. The bigger the bullies, the easier they are to take down!" He stood and watched P.J. disappear out of town. "And the wider the yellow streak down their backs." 

He walked back to his beloved horse and served him the promised extra helping of oats. "Sshhhhh...don't worry, boy. We're only staying the night and hitting the trail at sunrise." 

Hearing the desperate cries for help from the locked storage bin, the young man walked over to it and released the stable worker. 

"Th-Thanks, kid," he said. "I'm mighty behold'n to ya." He looked down at the fallen figure and shook his head. "He's bad news, kid. Was I you, I wouldn't stick around town none." 

"Guess that lucky for *you*, you ain't me." He smiled boyishly, instantly transforming his too-serious face. Tipping his hat, he walked into the night. 

Daryl stood over Charlie, shaking his head in disgust. Spotting a water bucket, he picked it up and grinning, splashed the contents on Charlie's face. 

The giant woke with a splutter. He was madder'n a hornet. "Who--? What--?" he looked around confused, angry. "Where *is* he? I'll kill him! I'll crush him like a scorpion!" 

Daryl shook his head. "You gone loco, Charlie? He already took you down once. Ya want more of that? Was I you, I'd let it lay!" 

"Well you ain't me, Daryl! That runt's dead!" He grabbed Daryl by the collar. "Where'd he go?" he demanded. 

"I-I s-swear I don't know, Charlie! H-He walked out. Tha's all I know...God's truth!" 

Charlie growled in disgust and threw the older man to the floor. To Daryl's relief, Charlie left him there and started off after the boy. 

Waiting until Charlie was definitely gone, Daryl ran towards the Sheriff's Office to warn him of trouble. 

**** 

The Golden Nugget's patrons looked up as Charlie walked in. By now, he was in a murderous rage and began shoving several drunken cowboys out of the way. Many more instantly moved over as soon as they saw him coming. They'd seen him like this before. 

As the room emptied, the tinny piano music suddenly stopped, a discord ringing in the still dancehall. The ticking of the clock over the bar mirror sounded like Death knocking at the front door. 

That's when Charlie spotted him. The young stranger was sitting alone at a corner table, a plate of enchiladas, rice, and beans in front of him. He wore his hat low over his face, obscuring his features from any casual onlookers. 

As Charlie trudged up to him, the young man ignored him and continued his methodical eating. Charlie stopped in the middle of the saloon and in a fit of fury knocked over three gaming tables in rapid succession. 

"*You*! Whelp!" 

The young man's fork paused halfway to his mouth, but then completed its journey. 

Charlie unholstered his six-gun and fired a warning shot above the boy's head. "Next time, I won't miss," he threatened. "Now, on your feet...*Get up*! Or I'll blow your head off!" 

The young man very carefully laid his fork down. Then, placing both hands on the table, he pushed up to a standing position. His hat was still low over his eyes, keeping Charlie from seeing what he might be thinking. Before the bigger man could say anything, the stranger pushed the hat back. 

A red forelock could be seen escaping its prison. The boy's cold blue eyes pinned Charlie to the spot. 

"Mister, I ain't no looking for no trouble. So, I'm gonna ask ya real nice-like to put'chur six shooter back in your holster and walk away. Now." 

His words were so astonishing that Charlie was rendered momentarily speechless. Finally, he guffawed in uproarious laughter. 

"Oh, tha's a funny one, runt! I got a bead on you, and *you* tell *me* to walk out! Well, forever more! If'n you ain't a sassy kid!" He laughed for a few more minutes. Abruptly, he stopped, his expression turning ugly. 

"*Dance*, whelp!" Charlie said, firing at the boy's feet. His target didn't budge an inch. Angry, Charlie fired again. The young man stood fast. About to fire again, Charlie caught the boy's burning gaze. It seemed as if his eyes were ablaze with a cold blue fire. 

"Mister, I'm gonna ask ya once more to walk away. My patience is running plumb out." 

"*Dance*, damn you!" Charlie screamed. "Or I'll blow a hole through your head, right now! I said, *dance*!" 

"Sorry, mister, but I plumb don't like the music you're playing." With that, the young man flew into action. Faster than thought, the boy was airborne, flying sideways, dodging a hail of bullets. Simultaneously, his twin colts were in his hands, blazing a shower of lead ahead of him. 

Within seconds, certainly no longer than the space between a heartbeat, it was over. As the gun smoke cleared, the timid patrons of the Golden Nugget cautiously emerged from wherever they'd hid. The stillness of the room was broken by the sounds of Charlie's painful cries. 

"Muh hand! Ya plumb shot off muh hand!" 

"And you're plumb lucky he'd didn't kill you, you dumb galoot!" 

All eyes turned to the newcomer. The Sheriff's badge glinted off the light given by the saloon's chandeliers. As the Sheriff spoke, the young man came to his feet from where he'd landed and rolled near the long bar. The Sheriff didn't bother to draw his weapon. He simply gazed steadily at the armed boy. 

Carefully, keeping his eyes on the lawman, the boy casually twirled the twin Colts and in a single smooth move reholstered his weapons. 

"You just passing through, son?" he asked politely, yet meaningfully. 

"Yes, sir...I'm pulling out at sunup." 

The Sheriff nodded. "That's good enough for me, Kid. You ain't Wanted round these parts, but I'm mighty obliged that yuh ain't hanging here long. Why don't you turn in for the night? I'll clean up." 

The young man looked down for a moment. His body language bespoke of sadness and a bone-deep weariness. Slowly he looked up again and nodded. Without another word, he walked out the saloon's swing doors. 

"You're lettin' him go?" Charlie protested. "Lookit whut he *done* to me! I'm bleeding to death! I want him arrested!" 

"Aw, shuddup, Charlie. You ain't hurt...you're barely scratched!" the Sheriff said in disgust, hauling him to his feet. "I outta run you in for sheer stupidity, you know that? You ain't got the brains of one them steers you ride herd on! That boy coulda kill't you all right...if'n he'da a mind to! But since yer still alive, then I guess he didn't want to kill you tonight!" 

"Wh-What do you mean, Sheriff?" Charlie asked in a small, frightened voice. "Y- You know who he is?" 

The Sheriff nodded. "Charlie, you just tried to take on the Rawhide Kid!" 

The End #### 


End file.
